


Crowsong

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Graduation, farewell, implied daisuga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 06:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12551552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: As four first years, Asahi, Daichi, Suga and Kiyoko had joined Karasuno Volleyball Club as the lowliest of members.Between them, they put in the work and gathered others to their flock.And they soared.But their flight has come to an end, and all they can leave behind on this graduation day are memories of a better time.





	Crowsong

**Author's Note:**

> This story appeared in the Farewell Zine featuring all the third years. I collaborated with the wonderful @priintaniere on tumblr, who drew the most fabulous art work for this story. After tossing a few ideas in the air between us, I came up with Crowsong.
> 
> There is a hint of daisuga in this story, but the central relationship is one of friendship.

To Asahi, Graduation Day had galloped towards him after Spring High. Yet now as he sat, Time had slowed. It was as if he were a photographer looking through a viewfinder and waiting for the frame to focus. 

Two blocks away, his teammates sat together. Asahi smiled knowing there should have been four spaces between them, but the sensei hadn’t counted on Suga’s persistence as he’d slipped eel-like through his classmates, joining Daichi in the middle of the bench.

Already in line, Shimizu waited to accept her diploma. Asahi didn’t know if she was crying, but thought it likely that only he of the four was.

Touching the second button of his gakuran, he felt a _thudder_ in his chest.  They were leaving. This was their farewell. A swansong.

_That’s not right._

But did crows have a song?

***

Karasuno had a pull on Daichi. The thread that had stitched into him since Junior High, still seamed through his heart. He’d loved the hustle, striding down corridors, even (or was that especially) the battles for ascendency in the lunchtime queue. He’d found his place here, and it had been at the front.

He’d miss Karasuno, miss the multitude of emotions that swirled inside of him, miss the pride he wore as surely as his black kit.

But there had been two years that had ripped him, threads bound fast around his heart: a game they’d _nearly_ won, when he’d thought about quitting, and when their Ace had snapped, then fled in shame.

The tears when they’d lost. Suga’s throat catching in a sob as he’d tried so very hard to be stoic, leading the team from the sidelines to commiserate with those on court.

The tears when they’d won. Clutching his Vice and Ace, exhaustion sweating out of every pore, bowing to the girl on the sidelines, her face a picture of pride.

She was standing now, waiting for that scroll to say she’d been a part of this place. _As if there’d ever been any doubt._

Ennoshita was watching. Daichi gave him a smile, one side of his mouth turning upwards, and the new Captain grinned back.

_He’s grown. It’s enough._

Suga’s hand was close, so Daichi smoothed his palm across the top, and mouthed a kiss.

Touching his gakuran’s second button, he considered the threads attaching him to this place. He could snip away in one go, or wait for them to wear thin.

***

Suga had mixed feelings about graduation.

He wouldn’t miss having to do up the top button of his jacket for assembly. Or the shouts of ‘tuck your shirt in!’ that followed him whenever he’d walked past the Vice-Principal’s office. And he sure as hell certainly wouldn’t miss the snide whispers that had reached a crescendo in his second year after he’d stutteringly rebuffed another girl’s confession.

But there were _better_ memories, important memories. Ones not tied to classrooms and corridors, but to a place where they’d overcome the vines tethering them, and found wings.

_We soared._

It was Tanaka he noticed, grinning as he held up two fingers. Snorting, Suga gave his best senpai scowl at the peace sign, but although his lips twitched into a grin, he sighed.

“Keep flying,” he muttered.

 “They’ll be okay.” Daichi’s fingers entwined his. “Tanaka’s heart is fire not glass.”

Cheered, Suga touched the middle button on his gakuran and started to twist.

***

Kiyoko wanted to be invisible. The formality of the occasion, the fact that she’d soon be required to step onto a platform was not one she relished. Her grades were fine – that was all. There’d be no speech declaiming an outstanding student expected to go far.  But she knew when she walked forwards, attention would assail her. And, yes, they were only wishing her well, but she longed for a clipboard to swat the day away.

Hands in her pockets, her fingers furling around the whistle she’d not yet given back, she prayed for the ceremony to end.

She scrutinised the crowd until she caught a blonde bob of hair and eyes scanning the line. The girl’s hand shot up to wave, then equally quickly shot back down, no doubt being sat on as Hitoka-chan cursed herself for drawing stares her way.

_My fledgling needs help if she’s to fly._

Her name called, Kiyoko tweaked her collar and strode onto the stage, acknowledging the cheers, stonily ignoring the whoops.

(And out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kinoshita whack Nishinoya on the head and she laughed.)

 

***

As they lay on the gym floor, the three boys fanned out in front of her, Kiyoko’s mind caressed three years of memories – not all of them glorious, but each precious.

“Remember when it began?” Daichi said.

“Asahi bit his tongue,” Suga laughed, then twitched his head towards Kiyoko. “Sorry, we didn’t meet you ‘til later. Have we dragged you away from something else?”

She shook her head. “It began here for me, too. I wish...”

“What?” Daichi asked. He sat up, pulling his knees to his chest.

“Wish we had something more than memories to leave them,” she mumbled, ashamed because who was she to decide what was important?

For a moment, Kiyoko thought she’d upset Suga because he got to his feet, then skipped across to the store cupboard.

 “Sug?” Daichi called out. “Please tell me you’re not trying to steal the net. Or sabotage the basketball hoops.”

Suga emerged, a sprinkling of dust on his black gakuran, and a mop bound with tape in his hand.

And Asahi flushed, swallowing hard.

“We’re leaving them this.” His eyes flicked to Asahi and softened. “The sign that _nothing’s_ irreparable. And I had an idea,” Suga explained, dragging the mop with him as he sat back on the floor. His fingers slipped to his jacket. To the second button closest to his heart. He tugged, not hard, but it fell away as if it had only been hanging on by a literal thread for this moment.

“This,” Suga continued, “represents our fondest memories associated with Karasuno, right?”

“Yeah,” Daichi replied, stifling a yawn, “and the tradition is that we present it to the girl we like. Why do you think we’re hiding in here?” He bowed his head to Kiyoko. “Although, there’s probably a heap of buttons waiting for you.”

_Like I care_ , she said with her eyebrows, loving how she could quell even the Captain with a look.

“Anyway ...” Suga said, glaring at Daichi. “As my best memories are _here_. In the gym, on the court, even the sidelines. Anywhere with you guys and our team.” He exhaled. “Why don’t we leave ours to them?”

“Uh...” Kiyoko blinked. “Don’t you two want to exchange?”

It was Daichi who answered, ruffling Suga’s hair as he spoke. “I don’t need a button to remind me of what’s important.”

“Sap!” Suga accused, but his voice was thick.

 “What about Shimizu?” Asahi asked, his voice level as if he were trying so hard not to accuse. “She’s as much a part of this as –”

 “I _have_ thought of that,” Suga interrupted. “Shimizu-san, may we thread them onto your ribbon?”

Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, she allowed a smile to settle on her face before she took the three of them in. “Sorry, but the ribbon is stitched tight into the collar. I don’t think I could tear it off.

 “Oh, I never realised,” Suga said, biting his lip.

She shrugged. “Besides, what would they do with it?”

“Tanaka _could_ wear it round his head,” Daichi offered.

“He’d fight Noya for the honour,” Suga laughed. “Too dangerous!”

“Without a thread, they’ll lose our buttons,” Asahi fretted.

“The mop it is then,” Suga said. But he didn’t reclaim his button, instead huffing out a sigh. “At least they’ll use it.”

The symbol that a team could survive, could be reborn to fly through any storm.

Their take-off point.

But _not_ their flight.

“Um ...” Kiyoko paused. “I do have something else.” She cleared her throat, blushing as the three listened, then produced from her pocket the whistle she’d once worn as proudly as any jewel. “Why don’t I string them on this, then I’ll hand it to Hitoka-chan and -”

“It’s Yacchan’s so they can’t fight over who wears it!” Suga chimed.

“It connects us!” Daichi agreed. He tugged at his button, ripping so hard a hole appeared in the fabric. “Brilliant!”

“It might start a tradition,” Asahi added, looking hopeful, and he pulled on a thread, letting it unravel until the button popped into his palm.

“As long as he doesn’t make a speech,” Suga muttered in a loud aside.

 “Memories and dreams to hand over to our Crows,” Kiyoko said, threading each button onto the cord, before holding the whistle to her lips.

“Crowsong,” Asahi mused.

“Caw-caw!” Suga laughed.

“Perfect,” Daichi said. “Now, I’m dying to get out of this uniform, so how about we find the others for one last game?”


End file.
